Valentines
by Swallow B
Summary: Valentine's Days without fluff or romance. Minerva and Severus are not a couple in this story.
1. Chapter 1

Valentines

Disclaimer: Characters and basic plot belong to JK Rowling.

Author's Note: I don't know how this reads, but writing it was like the Triwizard Tournament: fighting dragons, plunging into the depths and finding my way through the maze.

(This is not a plea for indulgence. "Knock her off her broom if you have to!")

Thank you to Vera and Kelly for their precious encouragements.

ooo

1.

14th February 1993

Severus

The jars on the shelves rattled dangerously as Severus Snape slammed the door of his office.

Confound the bloody idiot. And the ridiculous dwarfs. And the giggling teen-agers.

Severus Snape had received ten Valentines. Ten. Was it that entertaining to make fun of him?

Four from Slytherin twits, he meant students, who had a crush on him. Well, these things happen. They'll grow out of it.

Three from Ravenclaws who probably found Filius too old and too short.

Three from - this was getting worse - idiotic female colleagues. Rolanda thought she was being funny? Sybill's stank of sickly-sweet cheap perfume. He could brew her some better-smelling stuff himself, if he had time for this kind of nonsense.

And one from the pink idiot himself (a shade of pink Parkinson wouldn't be caught dead in, which is saying a lot).

He was certainly not going to read the cards.

"Evanesco."

Severus could never pronounce this spell without being painfully reminded of its similarity to the name "Evans".

Valentine cards. For Severus, there had only ever been one, would only ever be one, could only ever be one.

Would never be.

Last time he had used this spell, it had been to vanish the snake Potter had spoken to.

The snake Potter had spoken to.

A Parselmouth.

A knock on the door pulled him out of his reflections.

Severus had a number of unfriendly voices at his disposal. He chose the worst.

"Who is it now?"

"It's Gilderoy. Did you...?"

'If you have to bother someone, go and find Aurora!"

Aurora Sinistra, poor lonely wretch.

She would think twice next time before sending him a Valentine.

The sound of retreating footsteps surprised him. Was the man that stupid?

He must be. How irresponsible did one have to be to send card-carrying dwarfs in the middle of Potions lessons, as if the little blunderheads weren't constantly on the verge of getting burnt, poisoned or blown-up without outside help?

Enough of that. There was work to be done.

He gave the Bloody Baron a companionly glare.

"No need to protect the Draught of the Living Death. I am not tempted."

The Baron looked apologetic.

"If I were still alive and had had to suffer this nightmarish day..."

"Her son is in danger," hissed Severus. "All this idiocy is only a reminder of..." he took a deep breath, "the real thing. I need all my wits to catch the lunatic who thinks he is doing Salazar Slytherin's work. You had better help me, instead of standing in front of the potions cupboard like a miserly apothecary."

"Certainly, but ghosts are vulnerable too, as we have seen..."

"Who is doing it?"

Severus' fist knocked the ink bottle off the table.

The Bloody Baron disappeared.

"Reparo," muttered Severus. "Scourgify. Why do I have to do everything around here?"

ooo

Minerva

This was the worst Valentine's Day of her career.

Trust Lockhart not to miss an opportunity to make a fool of himself. Even Albus' most garish purple looked conservative in comparison to that clown's costume.

All day long, Minerva had had to lock her classroom against the assaults of the sorry looking dwarfs. She had actually felt pity for them until they had had the impudence of presenting HER with three Valentine cards, in front of sniggering classes.

She was an old lady, for goodness' sake. Such a thing had not happened to her since Sirius Black's school days.

Ugh, Sirius Black.

The first card, lavishly sprinkled with pink hearts, was from Lockhart. Really. She could easily be his mother. He probably thought he was doing her a great honour. As if she needed to be honoured by the likes of him.

The second one, with a clumsy picture of a Hippogriff, was from Hagrid. "To my favrite teacher and Head of House. Love you, Minerva." Hagrid had always been fond of her, bless him. It was a token of esteem and friendship and she took it as such.

The third one... The third one was embarrassing.

Rolanda.

Rolanda's card represented a beautiful Quidditch player, long black hair flying in the wind. Minerva hoped it wasn't meant to be... All right, she knew it was a most unrealistic representation of herself. When Minerva McGonagall was a Chaser on the Gryffindor team, she never played with her hair loose or without her spectacles.

That woman's phantasms.

That woman. Just look at her. Rolanda. A man's name, to which a final 'a' had hastily been added as if to say, "by the way, gender: female". What could come out of a name like that?

Perhaps that was why Roland sought women.

The fact that Rolanda was a woman, or sort of, was not what bothered Minerva.

It was just that she was not at all... Well, she was Rolanda.

Minerva pointed her wand to the fireplace.

"Incendio."

The Valentines lept into the fire and danced in the flames like tortured witches.

That was better.

With a sigh, she sat down in her straight-backed chair. There were lessons to prepare, essays to mark.

Rising her wand to summon the necessary parchments, she noticed her had was trembling. Slightly, not much. But still.

"Don't be silly, Minerva," she scolded herself.

She needed a cup of tea.

"Pip."

Her voice came out annoyed and unfriendly. Imperious, the word was. That wouldn't do. It wasn't fair to take out her temper on the house-elves.

"Bring me a cup of tea, please."

Albus had taught her to be polite to the house-elves.

Albus.. did he send Valentines? He was childish enough to do so.

Of course, it wouldn't be to her.

"Professor McGonagall's tea, strong , with no sugar, just like Professor McGonagall likes it. Is Professor McGonagall wanting something else?"

It was worth calling the elf, just to be called "Professor McGonagall" three times in a row.

"Beautiful Minerva", indeed...

"No, thank you, Pip."

Actually, she wouldn't mind... Minerva's gaze wandered to the cabinet where she kept her best Scotch whisky, Muggle whisky, a Christmas present fro her sister Diana.

Later, she decided.

Later, when her work would be done, she would get into night clothes and let her hair roll limply down her back, allowing herself to relax in softness at last. She would pour herself a glass of the warming liquid, the only Muggle luxury she allowed herself, and she would look at her day differently.

What did Lockhart know of love? What did anyone know of love?

Albus said love was a power so great it was studied only in the most secret of chambers in the Department of Mysteries.

Love was not a Valentine.

Love was not what people thought.

Love was not...

Drowsiness was making her limbs heavy.

Tomorrow the Great Hall would look normal again: no hideous pink flowers and no confetti in her morning tea.

DA teachers were getting away with far too much. She should have a word with Albus.

ooooo

14th February 1994

Severus

Werewolves are dangerous creatures. They walk around looking human, acting mild and soft, saying "please" and "thank you" and calling you Severus, when they are really blood-thirsty monsters, capable of tearing students to pieces or contaminating them, turning them into monsters such as themselves.

But they don't wear pink on Valentine's Day.

Much less cards this year. Severus was tempted to vanish them without looking at them, but what if that like-me-I'm-a-nice-werewolf friend of Black's had had the cheek... He hadn't. It was just silly Rolanda, creepy Sybill, lonely Aurora and sixth year Electra Calico. He'd get back at her as soon as he got her next homework. A 'D' would do the trick.

"Evanesco."

Severus had more important things to do: brewing Wolfsbane, trying to keep the werewolf away from Potter, trying to convince Dumbledore Lupin had given the boy a home-made map to get to Hogsmeade without permission, give the students as many hints as possible about Lupin's condition, and catch Black. Watch the Dementors suck out whatever Black had for a soul and see his arrogant aristocratic figure collapse to the ground, an empty shell. Some people didn't deserve souls.

The boy would live.

The boy would live to defy him and torment him, as his father had.

But then Severus' work would be done.

ooo

Minerva

It was good to have Remus back. Poor Remus, he had looked so sick and ragged when he had arrived. How had he survived the twelve years since the tragedy?

He was an excellent teacher, which was worth the risk of having a werewolf among the staff. Good DA teachers were hard to come by.

As an added bonus, he had no taste for pink flowers and winged dwarfs. Hopefully, Valentine's Day would be peaceful this year.

Except that another picture of the same black-haired Quidditch player was delivered at breakfast. Minerva was tempted to remind Rolanda that she had never looked like that, but that would have meant acknowledging she had recognised herself.

Minerva pushed away her uneaten toast and left the table.

If she likes my hair so much, why doesn't she grow her own?

Stop, she admonished herself.

Her lips twitched though, as she walked up the stairs to her office. Even if Rolanda let her hair grow, it would still be grey and ratty, not black and lustrous. The woman had a point.

That woman.

She would do better to watch out for Dementors on the pitch.

Could she cast a Patronus?

Minerva didn't want to know what shape that woman's Patronus would take.

"Incendio."

ooooo

14th February 1995

Severus

They wouldn't forget Valentine's Day, for once. That would be too much to ask.

Potter was competing in the Triwizard Tournament and the Dark Lord was returning... Well, they didn't know that, the idiots who sent him Valentines.

The Yule Ball foolishness had clearly not been enough for them.

First, Severus had had to gather his Slytherins and tell them about the ball. Most of them knew about it already. Purebloods are well-versed in wizarding traditions, and Half-Bloods will not be outdone. Slytherins have a sense of decorum. The girls hid behind their hands to giggle. Pureblood boys bowed to Pureblood girls in the best aristocratic fashion and again Half-Bloods succeeded in not being outdone.

Severus didn't envy Minerva and Pomona with their shrieking girls and brutish boys.

Besides, the Slytherins needed some cheering up after Mad-Eye Moody's constant irrational attacks against them. Protecting the Slytherins from Moody, Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and famous Auror had become an exhausting full-time job . Severus had complained to Dumbledore, but it hadn't helped. the Headmaster had merely tut-tutted and said, "That's Alastor, Severus."

Severus should have known. His body still bore the marks of Dumbledore's selective justice. Slytherin bullying was Dark magic to be repressed, Gryffindor bullying was good fun. Moody was only implementing the Headmaster's policy. Not that auror Moody ever took orders from anyone. Like Dumbledore, he was used to doing exactly as he pleased, as he had made a point of showing Severus as soon as possible by searching his office.

Of course, the Headmaster hadn't ordered Moody to search Severus' office. But anything to keep the Slytherins in what he thought was their place was fine with Dumbledore.

The two men just happened to see things in the same way.

That's Dumbledore, Severus.

Severus had fully expected to have to protect his students single-handed, while at the same time trying to keep students from blowing up the dungeons and to get Potter out of the last mess he had landed himself in.

Surprisingly, not only did he get help, it was Gryffindor help.

One couldn't break school rules and abuse students in front of Minerva. Not openly. Her inner instinct for justice would react immediately.

Severus had found an ally. And not only one, for when Minerva detected injustice, the whole staff knew, and soon, all the teachers, from Filius to Sybill, had an eye on Mad-Eye Moody.

Severus just wished Minerva had been around more often during his own student days.

In the middle of all that, there had been the wretched ball.

Potter showing off in that emerald green cloak that brought out the colour of his...

After a few drinks and the strange vision of his colleagues twirling around (what was that Minerva had put on her hat?), Severus had tried to escape the general madness, only to be caught up by Karkaroff in the ridiculously Transfigured grounds (was Minerva responsible for this monstruosity?). Of course, Karkaroff's Mark had reappeared. So had Severus's, and Lucius's, and everyone's. Moody knew it, it was obvious from the knowing glances he kept shooting at Severus and Karkaroff's left sleeves.

The second task was in ten days. Severus had repeatedly mentioned Gillyweed in every single lesson and still none of the dunderheads had caught on. He had placed Gillyweed in evidence and hoped against all odds he would not have to stuff it down the stupid boy's throat himself.

Why was it so damned hard to keep that boy alive?

"Evanesco."

There had been fewer cards this year and Severus couldn't find the heart to blame the silly nitwits. If that was their idea of fun, let them enjoy themselves while still could.

Severus went straight to bed, too exhausted to even think of Draught of the Living Death.

The Bloody Baron gave him the thumbs up.

ooo

Minerva

Two Valentines danced in the flames.

Minerva almost regretted Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank had left. Almost, because it was good to have Hagrid back, even if he didn't send her Valentines any more. What a shame his relationship with Madame Maxime hadn't worked out. But it was to be expected.

Wilhelmina was an interesting woman. Quiet, and direct. No frills and no nonsense. She might have deflected Rolanda's foolishness, though Minerva couldn't imagine anyone sending a Valentine to the gruff Care of Magical Creatures teacher.

No long black hair.

Minerva pinched her lips in time to stop a smirk that would have made her look quite Slytherin.

She knew she was trying very hard not to think of the other card, from Alastor Moody. Receiving a card from Alastor was not, in itself, very surprising. After all, he had courted her on and off since their student days, even though she had repeatedly turned him down. Minerva would have smiled at his persistance (at their age!) if it had not been such a strange card. During all these years, Alastor had always shown her respect. This card was anything but respectful. It was was obscene. Had Alastor's head been injured in one of his innumerable battles? Or was his eye that saw through clothes affecting his self-control? If that was the case, he should certainly not be let loose in classes of teen-agers.

When she had complained to Albus, he had said, "That's Alastor, Minerva."

Was it really the Alastor she knew?

She had been happy to escape his clutches at the Yule ball. Etiquette demanded that she dance at least once with each male teacher. Once had been more than enough.

To tell the truth, not all teachers had taken advantage of this prerogative. Hagrid was busy with Madame Maxime, Filius had spent the evening perched on a pile of cushions, pretexting he was afraid of being trampled, and Severus had disappeared. Imagine Severus swishing his black cloak on the dance floor... Albus was the best dancer of all. Rolanda wasn't around. Minerva wondered if she was with Wilhelmina. Imagine those two at a ball. Oh well, it was none of her business.

Why was she even thinking of that irksome ball anyway? Harry Potter was competing in the Triwizard Tournament, for goodness' sake. He had fought a dragon. Wasn't that boy an incredible flyer? Even better than his father. Such an asset to Gryffindor. And didn't he look gorgeous at the ball?

There she was, thinking of the stupid ball again, when the second task was in ten days. Potter's flying skills wouldn't help him in the lake. Thankfully, Alastor kept growling about helping him. There was some good in the man, after all. She just wondered why he had asked her about Gillyweed in a loud voice when there was only a house-elf around to hear.

Better he talk about Gillyweed... It was annoying, one had to be very careful to have presentable underwear when he was around. Not that Minerva Mcgonagall ever wore unpresentable underwear. Or that she ever presented it, for that matter.

Right. Well. Let's hope Potter gets the message.

"Pip."

How could she bring the subject of Gillyweed into her request for a cup of tea?

"Yes, Professor McGonagall? Is Professor McGonagall wanting a cup of tea?"

So much, so much better than (she shuddered) "sexy Minerva".


	2. Chapter 2

Valentines

Characters and basic plot belong to JK Rowling.

Thank you to Silverbirch and his excellent 'One out of Nine' for his insights into cat world (though in a very different tone).

ooo

2.

14th February 1996

Severus

One thing Severus could thank Umbridge for: no students had sent him Valentines this year. Nor had Sybill. She was on probation, drowning in sherry tears.

Which left Aurora and Rolanda.

Poor silly Aurora.

As for Rolanda, she was probably laughing at him with her pipe-smoker.

"Evanesco."

If only one could vanish real problems so easily.

.

Evanesco, the ten escaped Death Eaters in Lucius' secret chamber.

Twisted-faced Dolohov who killed the Prewetts.

Pock-marked Rookwood, the spy at the Ministry.

Enormous Rowle who smashed Muggles' skulls with his fists.

Severus' former classmate and dormitory companion, Mulciber, who specialised in the Imperius Curse.

Taciturn Travers who murdered the McKinnons.

Monkey-faced Gibbon, chief Squib eliminator.

Fidgety Jugson and his restless wand.

Delicate Rabastan who disliked messes.

Sanguine Rodolphus who loved the Cruciatus, messy or not.

And Bellatrix.

And Lucius and Narcissa sitting stone-faced at the end of the table where the Dark Lord's snake eyes gleamed at each in turn.

.

Evanesco, Black, lord of his Noble and Most Ancient House, enthroned at the kitchen table, spitting out insults.

.

Evanesco, Umbridge's sick flattery of the Slytherin students. She, as everyone else, was using them and they knew it. But the Dark Lord's orders were to help her.

.

Evanesco, Potter's Occlumency lessons. Her eyes in the hated face. Her eyes full of teen-age defiance and hatred. His soft mind, so easy to penetrate, his memories offered to perusal as neatly as books on a library shelf.

Seeing the way that cow Petunia had been treating him, you would have thought he would be different. But no, Potter arrogance was very resilient.

The Sorting Hat had told the boy he would do well in Slytherin.

But he was in Gryffindor, under Minerva's reponsibility. Had Dumbledore even told Minerva about Potter's Occlumency lessons? Probably not. He never told her anything. Why would he? She trusted him blindly. Was anyone around to make sure the boy practised emptying his mind every night? Of course not.

Evanesco.

"Just one spoonful, Baron."

ooo

Minerva

"Incendio."

Thankfully, the real Alastor never bothered with Valentines, or with anything remotely romantic. Nor with anything obscene. At least, not that she would know. Though with that eye...

How could she think of such things? She should be ashamed of herself. Wasn't it bad enough that she had mistaken a Death Eater for Alastor? That she had lived and worked with him for nine months without suspecting the deception?

"That's Alastor, Minerva."

It wasn't.

Minerva had never imagined Dumbledore could be wrong. Because of her blind faith in Albus, Alastor had spent nine months locked in his trunk.

How could she have believed Alastor would brutalise students and send her a dirty posrcard?

The shame nearly made her forget Rolanda's card.

She hadn't expected to get one this year. Not after what had happened during her last cat's night.

o

When Minerva was tired of being Professor McGonagall, she treated herself to a cat's night, a night during which she let her Animagus roam free.

Seen from a cat's view, the world's complexities melted into a different arrangement.

She could slip between human's legs, familiar with each one's shoes and gait. She could watch them from under the bushes or from high up, on a tree or windowsill. There were many ways of looking at humans.

When Minerva was a cat, smells were stronger and meaningful. She could identify each human and animal by their smell. Smells reflected people's moods: fear, anger, joy, arousal, fatigue, depression. The smell of depression was the worst. A smell that started out as musty and, if stronger, turned into rotten decay. The smell of Dementors. She knew it well, having often used her cat form to get past them, rather than her Patronus.

As a cat, Minerva enjoyed pleasures forbidden to Deputy Headmistresses : the simple pleasure of rolling in the sun on a stone path or of stretching out her limbs clawing at a tree or a sofa (she could always fix clawed sofas when she returned to human form).

There were other types of pleasures of which she was less proud, such as the relentless pursuit of a mouse and the pleasure of delayed victory, watching its slow agony. As a cat, Minerva understood cruelty. She understood Umbridge and Bellatrix Lestrange. She even had glimpses of what it meant to be You-Know-Who, though his smell was one of fear mingled with manic power-addiction. A cat sensed these things.

A cat understood the pleasure of sadism and that frightened and fascinated human Minerva.

As a cat, Minerva touched the darkness within.

Animagi have to be very careful. They must keep a sense of control, enough sense to be able to remember to hold back, enough sense not to be entirely overcome by their animal impulses. That's why Minerva had been appalled to hear that the so-called Marauders had been illegal Animagi. What if these wild teen-agers had given in to their animal impulses entirely? It was lucky that Sirius and James enjoyed their human form too much to lose their humanity.

o

The night after Minerva had received the results of Umbridge's inspection, she was roaming through the grounds, proud of the self-control that prevented her from tormenting birds and rats, when a different sort of temptation presented itself as an intoxicating scent that froze her to the spot.

What's wrong with you, Minerva? These are your colleagues. Go and mind your own business.

Before her paws could obey her, she was caught in a beam of wand light. Wilhelmina was quick.

"You are no cat. Who are you?"

Impressed despite herself, Minerva resumed her human form, endeavouring to make it look as dignified as possible.

Wilhelmina laughed.

"Too noble and stiff to be Umbridge. Good Animagus, Minerva."

Rolanda was clucking in annoyance.

"You are spying on us."

"Spying? I don't work for the Ministry."

"Well then, if you're not spying, you must have other business" remarked Wilhelmina, tucking her wand back in her robes. "We won't keep you."

Pop. Minerva walked away, nose and tail in the air, towards the cat-friendly roofs of Hogsmeade.

o

Now Rolanda had the nerve to send her a Valentine.

Wilhelmina had left. Hagrid was on probation. If he got sacked, would Wilhelmina come back?

Could that b... sack Hagrid? Albus wouldn't let her... she hoped.

Valentines indeed. Why is a silly piece of parchment so unnerving?

Talking of silly pieces of parchment, the first year essays...

Tomorrow. It has been a long day, thought Minerva, though she was aware today was Saturday.

It was all Umbridge's fault, she decided. That woman was making her, Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor and Deputy Headmistress, a nervous wreck.

It was high time she gave herself another cat's night.

But not tonight.

"Pip."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?"

ooo

14th February 1997

Severus

Irritating women with their stupid Valentines. Next year they would hate him.

Everything was one huge farce, a tragicomedy that was coming to its end soon.

"Evanesco."

Soon Dumbledore would be dead.

If he repeats the phrase "after you have killed me" once more, Severus might just loose his self-control.

There will be no one to turn to.

That is, apart form Elphias. Elphias was in the secret. He would be Severus' secret link to the Order.

Better than nothing, Severus supposed.

"He could at least have told Minerva," he muttered darkly.

"What do you think?" he asked the Bloody Baron.

The Baron spent a lot of time in Severus' office these days.

The Baron nodded.

"Minerva McGonagall is a strong woman, but those passions of hers could be dangerous."

"Passions?" repeated Severus. "Passions?"

"Dumbledore wants her to hate you with all of her passion. Only her true hatred will convince He Who Must Not Be Named."

"How will I be able to bear it?"

"You are able to bear anything, my dear fellow. Even pretending to hate those you love."

"I only ever loved one."

"I know," said the Baron.

"Go and check on Draco, will you?" added Severus.

He had received another letter, from Narcissa, and it wasn't a Valentine.

The Bloody Baron looked warily at the potions cupboard.

"Don't be silly," grumbled Severus. "If I die, who will protect the boys?"

ooo

Minerva

Rolanda walked briskly into Minerva's office, wrapped in a travelling cloak and clutching her old broom.

"I am spending the day with Willa. But first I brought you this."

The usual card with the usual black-haired Quidditch player.

Unexpected anger flared up in Minerva.

"Why give me that stupid card when you already have a...?"

She couldn't decide what word to use.

"A person to love?" said Rolanda.

The words sounded funny in that mouth that was usually barking things like "Mount your brooms!"

"You can love more than one person, you know," said Rolanda in a matter-of-fact tone.

Minerva's jaw dropped. But not for long. Minerva's jaw never dropped for long.

"Incendio."

It was Rolanda's jaw's turn to drop. But Rolanda's jaw never dropped for long either.

"See you later. Happy Valentine's Day."

Then she did mount her broom and disappeared into the grey clouds above the Forest.

Pop.

An angry tabby with spectacle markings was hissing in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

o

"Minerva, why are you so angry and why do mice have to suffer?" asked Albus.

In other circumstances, Minerva would have been ashamed. The Headmaster had seen her lose control.

But she was still irritated enough to snap,

"Mice always suffer. There are plenty of cats around."

Albus looked disappointed.

"Cats think mice exist to be chased, but what do mice think?"

What Minerva really wanted to say was,

"Mice don't think. They're stupid creatures. Like Rolanda."

(`Why did Rolanda bring out the childishness in her?)

Instead, of course, she said,

"It's not healthy to have mice all over the school."

"It's tradition," said Albus.

All right, she would take the bait.

"So why do mice exist?"

"They don't need a reason to exist. They just do. Minerva, why are you so angry?"

Perhaps the conversation was not about mice.

"You must not let your anger take over. Even if, one day, someone does something really terrible... You must not. The school needs you."

As if often happened, Minerva was not sure what Albus was talking about. Why was the man always so mysterious?

"I hope you feel better now," he added gently. "How many did you catch?"

"I can show you if you like. By the way, how did you get mice for your Transfiguration classes?"

ooo

14th February 1998

Minerva

Alastor was dead. Albus had been killed by Severus. Minerva had lost three good friends.

The worst loss was the loss of the one who was still here, the one she crossed every day in the dining hall and in the corridors, the one who gave her orders in his waspish voice. She had thought they were friends. Albus had trusted him, liked him. She had trusted him. She had been highly impressed with the work he did with the Slytherins - he was the youngest Head of House she had ever known. She had admired him for uncomplainingly reporting You-Know-who's horrors at the Order meetings with an expressionless face. Sirius and Remus claimed he had no feelings, but Minerva knew some feelings couldn't be expressed.

She had thought she understood him

His betrayal insulted her, wounded her, and she reacted like an injured Hippogriff.

Burning rage and hatred towards the cold-voiced, impenetrable-faced young headmaster had become her driving force, these days, more even, she was ashamed to admit, than the need to protect her students and to rid the wizarding world of You-Know-Who.

This man had abused her and Albus' trust, made a mockery of their friendship. She desired nothing more than to see him dead.

But when Minerva received her traditional Valentine from Rolanda, grief overtook her. She didn't throw the card in the fire. She cried, bitter, long overdue tears.

Then she wiped her eyes in her tartan handkerchief and hid them behind her square spectacles before walking out ot the Quidditch pitch.

'Madam Hooch!"

Rolanda zigzagged over between swooshing students.

"Thank you. For your cards."

Neither of them smiled.

"I' m worried about Willa," said Rolanda abruptly. "She's Muggle-born, you see, and I have no news."

'She'll be all right. She's tough and she's good with a wand."

"So was Amelia Bones. So was Alastor Moody."

One couldn't lie to Rolanda.

Minerva was tempted to share some of Diana's whisky with her. Diana was in hiding too. Squibs hadn't been troubled yet, but they knew they were next in line.

But one couldn't afford to drink alcohol these days - these nights. There were too many emergencies.

Who had time to think of Valentines?

ooo

Severus

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?"

Aurora Sinistra stood nervously in front of Professor Snape. She had been guessing, taking a wild bet, when she had sent him the Valentine card. If the Headmaster's office opened for him, she reasoned, he must be the legitimate Headmaster for Hogwarts. It hadn't opened for Umbridge.

She glanced at Dumbledore's portrait behind the desk. It smiled at her.

"I wanted to thank you for your card."

Severus had been careful to speak in the singular. He wasn't thanking her for her previous cards. Those had been foolishness. This one meant, "I trust you."

She nodded gravely.

"I appreciate your support. Please keep an eye on the students."

"Yes, Headmaster."

There were two cards on the table. At least, it looked like two cards. Aurora's was a card, no doubt about that. The other daintily folded piece of parchment looked more like a card that didn't have the courage to declare itself.

After Aurora had left, Severus picked it up for at least the fifth time and gave it his trademark glare. The two snakes joining heads and tails could be interpreted as a clumsy, or so-called artistic attempt at a heart, he supposed, though the message beneath it was quite prosaic.

"Rose Zeller is out of danger. Padma Patil slept through the night. We could all do with some Strengthening Solution."

o

The hospital wing was always packed, these days. And there was always a queue of miserable looking students outside.

Miserable as they were, their faces gleamed with hatred as the Headmaster walked past them, quietly taking in their wounds.

"I see nothing wrong with you, Hopkins," he remarked at one of the older students. The boy's eyes flashed as he pointed to his mouth in silent anger.

"Not everything shows!" shouted the boy next to him.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor. Professor McGonagall will be notified of your impertinence."

"She'll award me fifty points," muttered the boy.

Severus pretended not to hear.

"Poppy, I brought you some Strengthening Solution, some Dittany, blood-replenishing potion, painkiller and dreamless sleep. You are always running out, these days."

Poppy looked up at him, unsmiling. She had dark circles under her eyes.

"And you shouldn't have wasted your time sending that silly card," he added between his teeth, his eyes embracing the busy ward.

"I know my priorities," snapped Poppy, reaching out for the bottles without looking at him. "Horace keeps me well supplied with potions, but there is never too much. Thank you, Headmaster."

'You should take some too," she added in her professional tone, indicating the dreamless sleep potion.

Snape nodded and walked out, past the queue of students.

Minerva was coming up the corridor, clutching a student whose face was covered in blood. Severus had to stop to identify him, no, her. A fifth year Gryffindor.

Minerva kept walking, looking right through him, as if he didn't exist, her lips thinner than ever, her eyes red behind her spectacles. When had she got so old? He had never noticed all those lines on her face.

For the first time, Severus wished he had received more Valentines.

ooo

14th February 1999

"Happy Valentine, Minerva!" Albus' portrait greeted her as she walked into the Headmistress' office.

Minerva gave him one of her Looks. Not just one of the looks she used on misbehaving students. It was far worse. If portraits have feelings and memories, it might remind Albus of Severus.

She would never forgive him for hiding the truth about Severus, causing her to hate him and send him to his death, when she should have stood by his side and helped him as she had done for Albus.

Minerva, who used to be Albus' most faithful member of the Order of the Phoenix, never listened to him any more.

"Humph."

Somehow she had managed to drop this onomatopeia in an icy tone.

As she turned away, her eyes met Severus'. She wasn't used to having his portrait in her office yet.

This only made her feel worse.

How hadn't she seen through his mask? Severus, like most of the fighters on both sides, had been her student. she had thought she knew him well.

She didn't.

Their reunion had been dramatic. Severus had said he forgave her, and told her to stop blubbering because it gave him the creepy impression that Sybill Trelawney was now Headmistress of Hogwarts. Impudent... No, she deserved it. she deserved far worse than being compared to Sybill.

She didn't deserve to be headmistress.

After having proved incapable of distinguishing a Death Eater from her old friend Alastor, she had failed to protect her students, fought against Severus who was endangering himself to protect the school, and, last but not least, she had unnecessarily cast an Unforgivable Curse.

Yet she had to live with herself. There was work to do. Hogwarts needed her, imperfect as she was.

The Headmistress' office looked down on the Quidditch pitch. Years ago, Minerva would have found comfort and respite in watching the matches, but now, for some reason, she avoided the sight of Rolanda soaring in post-war flights. Wilhelmina was alive and well.

On the 14th of February 1999, Minerva had received no Valentine.

.

Sometimes, it gets too much to be Minerva McGonagall.

Happily, if cats are said to have nine lives, Animagi, at least, have two.

A beautiful tabby with spectacle markings is on her way to Hogsmeade.


End file.
